


Helpless

by ClaraCivry (Kat_Of_Dresden)



Category: Bohemian Rhapsody (Movie 2018), Queen (Band)
Genre: Blood, Car Accidents, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Hurt, Hurt Brian May, Hurt Everyone Really, Hurt Roger Taylor (Queen), Hurt/Comfort, Major Character Injury, Serious Injuries, Whump, it's a car crash, serious angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-02
Updated: 2019-05-02
Packaged: 2020-02-16 07:41:35
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,716
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18687100
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kat_Of_Dresden/pseuds/ClaraCivry
Summary: There's been an accident. Roger's in bad shape.Queen angst, mostly Freddie's point of view





	Helpless

Freddie saw it coming, but was too late to do anything.

 

The scream died in his throat as he tried to tell Roger that there was a truck coming his way. The truck that was going way too fast in their direction, a truck that was going to smash into them and was not stopping. The steel, the screw and panel, the glass was going to shatter and break them apart. There was no way that the truck would smash them and they would remain whole. Freddie could see it coming.

 

But not do anything.

 

The truck came in and there was a crash, a big crash, in seconds. There was an speed to it, a violence, that it sent the smaller car out of the road and into the grass. They nearly flew. The world went to hell – Freddie could hardly tell, but there was blood and there was noise and the car was rolling around, moving downhill to a field by the road. It had been fast, too fast to scream, to process what had happened, to understand it, to acknowledge the fact... The horror.

 

Roger had been driving and he'd received the brunt of the crash first, and then when the car got out of the road Roger was sent out, practically flew out of the car and into the grass, a mess of blood and glass shards and broken bones. He didn't have time to realise what had happened, he'd been arguing with Brian over something and suddenly there was pain, an undescribable amount of pain, and soon enough there was darkness, and he stopped perceiving, stopped everything. There was no more pain, there was no more anything. He couldn't feel all the horrors his unconscious body was going to go through. Small mercies.

 

After the initial shock, and realising that he was mostly whole, Freddie's complete attention was focused on Roger, poor dear Roger, thrown on the grass after receiving such a hard impact. How much could the human body really withstand? His friend was clearly unconscious and had been badly hurt on the impact – but, would it be fixable. Freddie need to make sure that Roger was at least alive, that he was still breathing.

 

Coughing from the smoke and the smell of gasoline, Freddie made his way to where Roger's body lay, where he was bleeding. As horrible as it was, Freddie was almost glad to see that. Dead bodies don't bleed. He approached him carefully, gently trying not to jostle the injured man and looked for a pulse, put his fingers on Roger's bloodied neck. The rest of the things could wait, first he needed to know that Roger was still alive It was weak, but there was one.

 

Still, Roger was in very bad shape. There was blood all over him and he was very unconscious. There were several gashes in his face and neck, and a big shard of glass in his stomach. Blood caked the left side of this head almost completely, and was dripping to the grass, red on green. Freddie decided not to move it, as ugly as it was and as much as it hurt to see it like that, impaling Roger, but he feared that if he moved it his friend would bleed out. That a delicate operation needed to be taken care of in a place with sterilised surgical instruments, where extra blood was prepared.

 

Still, it was heartbreaking to see Roger like that, limp and lifeless, covered in blood and glass and broken in so many places. He had received such a horrible, big impact.... They should probably be glad that he hadn't died on the spot. That he hadn't been cut off in half. The head injury might be serious, but at least the glass hadn't got him in a lung, or in the heart. Freddie told himself these things, but he couldn't see the silver lining, as much as he tried.

 

He could only see one of his best friends, thrown in the grass, bleeding and half dead. Using a scarf he'd been wearing, Freddie bandaged some of the gashes that were bleeding the worst, applied some pressure. He'd been hoping that maybe it would get a reaction out of Roger... but nothing. There were so many wounds, he looked so gone already. Who knew how many bones were broken, how much damage his insides had sustained. Carefully and gently, Freddie slapped Roger's blood-stained cheeks, trying to get his friend to wake up, do something. Stop looking so much like a dead person.

 

The notion of Roger dying was too painful to even contemplate. Roger was one his best friends, they had so much fun together, they understood and loved each other. They could be outrageous and do things others would consider terrible and scandalous, they could dance and drink more than the rest of the whole combined, they were energetic and passionate, about music, about love, about everything that surrounded them. And Roger was so full of life, it couldn't end like this, not so soon, not so abruptly, not so horribly. Not yet. It wasn't fair.

 

“How is he?”

 

A voice behind Freddie asked, with terror in his voice. John. For a moment, lost on his concern for Roger, Freddie had forgotten that there were other people in the car.

 

“He's hanging on. At least he has a pulse and is breathing. I put pressure and bandaged his bleeds, tried to wake him up, but... He needs medical attention, now.”

 

“Brian and I have been stopping cars, asking them to call for help. I'm sure an ambulance will be here soon.” John said. Freddie heard those words and repeated them to himself like a mantra. The ambulance was coming soon, the ambulance was coming.... they would make Roger all right again, look after him, clean all the blood, take out that glass. Manage to wake him up so that he wouldn't look like a broken doll, lying on the floor.

 

“Are you all right, Fred?”

 

Worried as he'd been for the drummer, Freddie hadn't spared a thought to himself as he'd been so concerned for Roger, who semeed to be much more badly injured that himself. He looked at his hand. All the blood there was Roger's. He'd been on the back of the car, so the impact hadn't been so bad. He figured that was why John seemed to be quite whole too, no bleeding wounds, no bones where they shouldn't be.

 

“I'm okay, I think. Nothing major. Are you okay too?”

 

“I'm good, yes. But Brian took some time to wake and I...”

 

“I'm fine.” Brian's voice came from where John had emerged. “The ambulance should be here soon.”

 

“Let's hope.”

 

It was only seven minutes until the ambulance arrived, although to Freddie it felt like seven hours. He rode in the ambulance with Roger and had to admit that it was a relief seeing the medics work on Roger, give him oxygen, bandage everything better, check his vitals. He was in the care of professionals now, and the fact that no one seemed alarmed or too concerned helped Freddie breathe again. The image of Roger thrown in that field broken and bloody was going to haunt him, he knew, but at least now he was in the way of getting better. This people would clean the blood, stitch the gashes, set the bones.

 

It would take a while, but he would recover. No need to say goodbye to his long-time friend, no need to imagine a life without him, no need to mourn. Roger was going to be looked after and the medics didn't seem to think that his life was in danger. With a deep breath of relief, Freddie let the medical personnel take Roger to where he would be completely fixed and met John and Brian by the entrance to the emergency services.

 

“They say he'll be fine. They need to get him some surgery for the bones and the glass cut will need a lot of stitches, but if there are no complications, he should be fine.”

 

John and Brian smiled, feeling that an incredible weight had been lifted off their shoulders. If Roger was going to recover, then the rest of the things were going to be all right too. They could look at themselves, give themselves the time to process what had happened.

 

“How are you boys? Seeing Roger like that, I hardly even looked at you.”

 

“I'm fine, I was too far from the initial impact place to be hurt. It was scary, but I think I don't have anything more serious than shock.”

 

“What about you, Brian? You were in the front seats with Roger and you look dreadfully pale.”

 

“...I'm.... I'll be fine.”

 

“Whose blood is that, Brian?”

 

He hadn't gone close enough to Roger to get stained with his blood. And his pant leg was stained bright red and the shirt was too dark to tell, but looked wet too.

 

“Brian?

 

“It's just a gash.”

 

“Are you sure? Brian, hey, look at me!” Freddie was beginning to feel alarmed. Brian was way too pale and he'd hardly spoken since the crash – and now seemed to be having trouble keep his balance.

 

“Yeah, just... feeling a bit...light-headed, is all....”

 

Freddie understood now, how the moment the tension from Roger's situation disappeared Brian had lost his capacity to stay awake. Fuck. Brian had been in the front too, and Deaky had mentioned that it took a long time for him to wake up after the crash. He'd received all that impact, he'd been injured too but had said nothing. And they'd done nothing about it.

 

And now...

 

“John, help me hold him!”

 

Brian fell, softly but quickly. All seven metres of him bonelessly falling to the floor of the hospital floor, while the other two bandmates looked at him with matching concerned expressions.

 

“Brian, darling, hey...”

 

Freddie noticed with horror that his hand was wet from where he held Brian (wet with something red and sticky) and that Brian's eyes were fluttering closed.

 

“No, no, darling, you stay with us, ok, stay awake...”

 

John was calling for help while Freddie uselessly tried to keep Brian awake. There was nothing he could do, Brian was too pale, too weak, only able to mutter one last sentence:

 

“Help... him... first.”

 

The doctors quickly arrived with a gurney and John helped lift Brian there, trying to feel of use, trying to do something for the guitarist. He'd known that something had been going on with Brian, when he'd taken so long to wake, he'd been so pale and quiet, when he had taken a big part of the impact too. But he'd been so adamant that he was fine, that they help Roger first, that that was what was important. And he'd been hurt too, and they'd done nothing about it. It was wrong. Freddie thought so too.

 

He managed to stand up, but was still very much frozen, looking with horror at his blood soaked hand. He had.... he had ignored Brian. He'd been so blinded by Roger's terrible state that he hadn't noticed how bad Brian was too, helping his horrible of being less important, of not having to be looked after. “Help him first”, he'd said, as if his hurts where less important than Roger's as if he didn't matter all that much. Just as an after thought.

 

This was so wrong. Brian could be hurt worse than Roger, hell he could be dying. His eyes had looked uncoordinated while he was passing out and there was blood... Blood on the floor, blood on his hands, blood from Brian's wounds, hidden by clothes and by the guitarist calm demeanor, by a man who had managed to keep himself upright and functioning to help his friend, to be able to not be a bother but an assistant. He'd kept walking and blinking and standing, so that they would “help him first”. Yes, helping Roger was important, but there shouldn't be any categories.

 

Freddie sat in a chair in the waiting room, refusing to clean his hands. He didn't want to forget, he wanted to keep remembering. Brian. Brian he'd ignored while he was bleeding, with that cute smile with the sharp teeth, always eloquent, soft spoken Brian, who always knew what to say and how to say it... Their darkness in the light, their pause in their neverending speeding. They needed Brian, he needed Brian with his gentle voice and long hands, with all his rock and roll, with all his music. And now... who knew what might happen to him.

 

They still had no update on Roger either, and Freddie thought that this hhad to be what hell felt like, a white room full of strangers, while two of your best friends fight for their lives, and you are told to wait. The seconds felt like millenia. Every time he closed his eyes, two images came to his head: Roger laying in the grass, bloody and broken; Brian using the last of his strength to say “help him first”. He was never going to forget that, was he? Never going to forget Roger's blond locks caked with blood, never going to forget how Brian's long hands stopped holding him and became dead, limp.

 

“We could lose them both, John. This morning everything was fine, we were going to record more music, to become one of the greatest bands ever... Now Roger's gut was sliced and who knew what was wrong with Brian. It was cruel.

 

After some painfully long hours (when they were checked too, just in case), John and Freddie were finally updated on Roger. Apparently everything had gone as expected, and although he was very bandaged and sedated, and would need many weeks to recover properly, there was no need to fear for any lasting damage. The head injury had bled a lot, yes, but it would heal. Head injuries simply bled much- The glass had fortunately missed any major organs and now the biggest risk was just infection from the stitches. But he was going to be ok.

 

Freddie and John hugged, almost crying from joy and relief. It had been such a scary experience, and they had been so afraid of losing their friend.... But he was going to be all right. And so they were taken to Roger's room, where he lay, clean from all that blood, all bandaged and stitched up. He had a lazy smile on his face, probably a result of all that medication.

 

“Freddie! Freddie and John. We're in a hospital, you know.... 's good to see you.”

 

“Good to see you too, mate. Especially good to see you awake. You gave us quite a fright.” Freddie said, sitting at the foot of the bed, eyes bright with unshed tears. They'd fixed him up. Roger was going to be fine.

 

“...one missing. Where's Brian?”

 

“He was hurt too.” Freddie said, trying to be... soft. “The doctors are with him right now.”

 

“Hope he's fine.”

 

“Yeah, we hope so too.”

 

Brian wasn't fine. Brian had damaged his spleen, that had to be taken off and he had internal injuries that were very hard to treat. He'd nearly died in the operating table, and even after he got out, it wasn't certain if he would make it or not.

 

Roger found out. He found out everything, and was incredibly angry. Why would Brian be so stupid? Hurt himself further like that, running around and pretending he was ok. “Help him first” he'd said. He'd done that to himself so that Roger would be looked after first, and properly. The notion tasted bitter in Roger's mouth. His injuries seemed more a nuisance than a concern, he was pissed for having taken everyone's attention when someone else needed it more.

 

They were all surrounding Brian's bed, listening to the beeping of the machines. Roger, with all his bandages and his anger; John, full of guilt for having done anything; Freddie, still feeling the blood of his friend's on his hands, feeling that the happy times from the past, all those would never happen again, not when everything was this broken, this helpless.

 

“Help him first.” … But who helps you?

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!
> 
> You know you want to comment!


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